Aftermath

by Ann McMan

  Maddie nodded.

  “And you know this because . . .”

  “Um,” Maddie looked at her apologetically, “I’ve heard?”

  “Nice try.”

  Maddie was smart enough to know that the better part of valor was keeping quiet.

  “Oh, no you don’t, kemosabe. You’re not getting off the hook that easily.”

  They were at a dead stop now. Maddie threw up her hands. “How, exactly, did I get on the hook?”

  “Beats me.” Syd ran a hand through her short hair. “I happen to think you were born there.”

  Maddie didn’t bother to disagree. “Sometimes it feels like it.”

  Syd leaned forward and craned her neck to try and see around the eighteen-wheeler stopped in front of them.

  “Enjoying the view?” Maddie asked.

  Syd sat back against her seat. “Shut up.”

  Maddie chuckled.

  “I suppose this is why you’re always so willing to make the supply runs to Charlotte?”

  “Yes.” Maddie nodded. “Precisely. It’s widely known that topless sunbathers are out in droves during the winter solstice.”

  Syd gave her a withering look. “You don’t only make supply runs in December.”

  “Now why ever would I choose to satisfy my prurient curiosity by driving all the way to Davidson when all I have to do is stay at home and watch Manhandle on any of David’s thirty-two televisions?”

  Syd thought about that. “Good point.”

  “I knew you’d listen to reason.”

  Syd laughed.

  “Is this traffic ever going to start moving again?”

  “Oh, sure,” Maddie said. “It should loosen up once we get past this bottleneck.”

  “I don’t understand why there are so many of those big auto trailers on the road.”

  Maddie shrugged. “Maybe it’s a race weekend.”

  “Well they look like piñatas on wheels.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re probably all headed for Concord. They should peel off soon.”

  “I hope so.” Syd looked at her watch. “I want to have time to relax and have a cocktail before we have to change and head out for the Blumenthal Center.”

  Celine was treating them both to a romantic, overnight getaway—complete with a room at the swanky, uptown Dunhill Hotel, and tickets to Carmen with Denyce Graves. She told them they needed to take advantage of having her on hand as a willing sitter for Henry. They demurred at first, but Celine insisted, sealing the deal by saying she’d invited Art to come by and spend the evening getting to know Henry. It was hard to argue with that.

  They had something else to celebrate, too. Maddie had removed Syd’s cast earlier in the week, and the x-ray showed no signs of fracture. Syd was now in a walking boot, and, although she claimed it was hard to accessorize, she was beyond thrilled to consign the crutches to a hook on the barn wall. Of course, Maddie had been quick to point out that they could donate them to the Salvation Army. Syd agreed at once, and asked if the Salvation Army would likewise want to inherit any of the fourteen broken vacuum cleaners that now were clogging the only available access route to her car.

  Maddie passed on that suggestion, so the crutches moved on, but the vacuum cleaners were still in residence. Maddie’s progress on those was about as slow and deliberate as her progress through this infernal traffic jam.

  She stared out her window again. Maddie was right: boats on the lake in this area were pretty much wall-to-wall. Then she thought she saw something on the bow of a big cigarette boat.

  No way.

  She looked more closely. Well whattaya know?

  “Hooters!” she cried out.

  Maddie glanced at her. “You can’t possibly be hungry. We just had lunch ninety minutes ago.”

  “No.” Syd pointed furiously at the water. “Hooters! Right there.”

  Maddie sighed. “I know you say they’ve got the best chicken wings, but, really, honey, we’ll be in Charlotte within the hour, and we can get an appetizer with our cocktails.”

  “No. Really. Hooters! Right, there!” Syd sputtered.

  “Oh, great,” Maddie said with excitement. “We’re finally moving.” She gunned the engine, and the Volvo surged forward.

  “No! Slow down . . . you gotta see this. They’re huge!”

  “I know they are, honey. I heard those franchises really made a comeback in this part of the state—must be because of Brett Bodine.”

  “Brett Bodine?” Syd looked at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “NASCAR and Hooters.” Maddie passed a long row of tractor-trailers, and the lake was no longer visible on Syd’s side of the car. “Wasn’t he their driver? I think he actually lives around here someplace.”

  Syd shook her head in amazement. “And people really trust you with their lives?”

  Maddie gave her a perplexed look. “What?”

  “Never mind.” Syd leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Just be gorgeous and drive.”

  LU WAS PULLING another double shift. Normally she didn’t mind—the extra money was great, and she was saving up to add a War-Header exhaust package to her Softail Fat Boy.

  Lu was a runner for the concierge. Her job was to get the guests whatever they wanted: show tickets, a take-out order of Pad Thai, a pack of Chiclets, or, occasionally, providing transportation arrangements for “professional” companions. Gigs like this one were great because the guests generally tipped very well, and The Dunhill was the best hotel in Charlotte.

  At least, that’s what The Dunhill told all the other hotels in Charlotte.

  But Lu had no complaints. Except when she was working back-to-back double shifts.

  She didn’t often staff the front desk, but Denise was out sick again, and Tyrone needed help managing the crush of people scheduled to arrive ahead of the big weekend. She’d filled in here before. It wasn’t really hard—she just had to be polite and kiss a lot of ass.

  Tonight was no exception. It had been pretty slow so far, but most of the check-ins were expected to arrive within the next couple of hours.

  She yawned and glanced at her watch. Shit. Six more hours of this crap.

  Tyrone tapped her on the arm as he emerged from the small office behind the massive desk. “I’m ducking out for a smoke. Call me if anything comes up that you need help with, okay?”

  She nodded. Before he could make his getaway, the big North Tryon Street entrance doors opened, and two women entered. The taller of the two was pulling a dark green roller bag.

  Tyrone sighed and stuck his pack of cigarettes back into his jacket pocket.

  Lu watched the two women make their way toward the desk.

  Great day in the mornin’. Now what do we have here?

  She looked at Tyrone. The way he kept tapping his left foot indicated that he was Jonesing for a smoke.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said. “I got this. Go on and take your break.”

  He gave her a grateful look. “You sure?”

  She glanced back at the pair headed their way. Oh, yeah . . . come to mama, girls.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Go have your smoke.” He smiled and ducked out, heading for the service entrance. “Take your time!” she called after him.

  She straightened her tie. Holy shit, these two are fucking hot.

  The dark-haired woman smiled as she approached. She had unbelievable blue eyes. They glowed like Xenons on a dark stretch of highway.

  “Hello,” Lu said in her most professional voice. “Welcome to The Dunhill.”

  “Hi there,” Blue Eyes said. Christ, she had to be at least six feet tall. “My name is Stevenson. We have a reservation for this evening.”

  “Of course. Let me pull that right up for you.” Lu typed her name into the computer. “First name?”

  “Madeleine.”

  Bingo. “Dr. Stevenson?”

  Blue Eyes nodded.

  “I have you right here. One night. Two queens. Nonsmokin
g.”

  The two women exchanged glances.

  “Um,” Tall Dr. Blue Eyes unfolded a piece of paper. “Our reservation was for one king.”

  You don’t say? Lu had to fight not to wink at the pair. “I’m so sorry. Let me see if I can correct that for you.” She scrolled through the list of available rooms. There weren’t many. She looked up at the pair. “I’m very sorry, doctor, but I’m afraid the only thing we have available is the double queen. But I’m sure that you and Miss—” She looked at the shorter, blonde woman, who was no slouch in the looks department either.

  “Murphy,” the companion chimed in. She was pretty sure the blonde already had her number. There was something about the way she was eyeing her. She obviously wasn’t clueless like her partner, Tall Betty.

  “Right. You and Miss Murphy will be extremely satisfied, and for the inconvenience, we are pleased to offer you a complementary full-service breakfast at our Harvest Moon Grille.”

  Dr. Blue Eyes smiled again. Damn. “I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable.”

  Yeah . . . I’d sure like to see how you two get “comfortable.”

  “Your stay with us has already been taken care of by a Dr. Heller.” Lu ran two key cards through the coder and placed them into an embossed folder. She penciled their room number on a slip of paper and tucked it inside the folder before sliding both across the countertop. “Your room is on the eighth floor. The elevators are beyond the stairway behind you. Turn right when you reach the eighth floor. Is there anything else I can help you with?” She smiled at the blonde. “Anything at all?”

  The shorter woman chewed the inside of her cheek. “In fact, we do need directions to the Blumenthal Center. We have tickets to—”

  “The opera?” Lu interjected.

  Tall Betty nodded. “That’s right.” She looked down at her companion. “It’s Carmen—a real treat.”

  Lu nodded. “Miss Graves is a guest here, too.”

  That got her companion’s attention. “Really?”

  Lu shrugged. “All the big ones stay here.” She pointed toward the Tryon Street doors. “Take a right and walk approximately one block to the intersection of Tryon and East Fifth Street. The Blumenthal is across the street on the corner.”

  “Thanks.” Tall Betty picked up the key cards. “Tell me. Why is the city so crowded tonight? It took us forever to get through the traffic jams.”

  Lu was incredulous. “It’s Speed Street weekend. You know . . . Stars, Cars, and Guitars?”

  Blondie looked confused. “Speed Street?”

  Lu sighed. It was clear that Blondie and Tall Betty needed more help than she thought.

  “Speed Street is an Uptown festival that kicks off the Coca-Cola 600 Race in Charlotte.” Both women stared back at her with matching blank looks. “Either of you two heard of NASCAR?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Blondie muttered.

  “Yeah,” Lu replied. “He stays here, too.”

  That got a smile out of her.

  “They’re estimating the crowds at about four hundred thousand this year,” Lu added. A thought occurred to her. “You do have dinner reservations someplace, right?”

  They looked like deer in the headlights.

  Lu sighed. “You might as well give up on getting a table anyplace in this town tonight.” She gestured across the lobby. “Even our restaurant is booked solid every night through Sunday.”

  Tall Betty exhaled. “Pizza?”

  “Not so much,” Lu replied. “Not unless you order it now and plan on eating at midnight. Of course, you can always try and grab something from one of the street vendors near the two live music stages.”

  “Music?” Blondie asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Lu explained. “This year’s lineup is great. They have Evelyn Champagne King, Halestorm, and Loverboy on the main stage.”

  “Wonderful.” Blondie did not sound like she meant it.

  “Lemme guess,” Lu said. “Not your cup of tea?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Well,” Lu offered. “Why don’t you two go on to the opera, then stop back in here when it’s over. I’ll call some of my contacts and see if I can’t get you in someplace for a late supper.”

  Tall Betty looked impressed. “That’s incredibly generous of you, and certainly beyond the call of duty.”

  “Not for The Dunhill.” Lu leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We go all they way for our special guests.”

  Tall Betty looked surprised, but Blondie didn’t. She cleared her throat. “Thanks for the offer. We’ll think about it.” She tugged on her companion’s sleeve. “Come on, Maddie. We need to get dressed, or we’ll be late.”

  “Right. Thanks, um . . . Lu?” Tall Betty was looking at her nametag.

  “That’s right . . . Lu.” She took a Dunhill business card and jotted her name and cell phone number down on the back. “This is my direct line. Call me if you need anything at all.”

  She handed the card to Tall Betty, who stood there looking it over. “Your name is Lu Ferrigno?”

  Behind her, Blondie chuckled.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lu said. “I know. The Incredible Hulk, right?” She shook her head. “Some freaky-looking white dude who does infomercials. My parents thought it was funny . . . go figure.”

  “Is ‘Lu’ short for something?” Tall Betty asked.

  Lu rolled her eyes. “Lucinda.”

  Tall Betty smiled. “Thanks, Lu.” She waved a hand as they walked off toward the elevators.

  Lu watched them go. Oh, yeah, she thought as she picked up the phone. I know exactly where I’m sending the two of you.

  AS SOON AS the elevator doors closed, Syd jammed a finger into Maddie’s chest. “Just what in the hell was that about?”

  Maddie looked at her with a blank expression. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you missed any of that?”

  “Any of what?”

  Syd shook her head. “How can you be so clueless? She was totally hitting on you.” She paused in her tirade. “On both of us, probably.”

  Maddie looked alarmed. “Lu?”

  Syd rolled her eyes. “Yes, Lu . . . short for Lucinda—or, in this case, Lucifer.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Syd. She’s just a kid.”

  “I’ve got news for you, Stretch. Lu Ferrigno may be many things, but ‘kid’ is not among them. Did you get a load of that tattoo on her wrist?”

  “She had a tattoo?”

  Syd looked at her with wonder. “Did you cut doctor class the day they talked about the benefits of empirical observation?”

  Maddie sighed in frustration. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. What possible significance does a tattoo have?”

  “It was a band of concertina!”

  “So?”

  “Hello? It’s kind of a butch hallmark.”

  “Oh, good lord. You’re spending too much time with David.”

  “Whatever. This whole trip is turning into a comedy of errors.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Syd looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Okay,” Maddie agreed. “The traffic sucked.”

  “You think?”

  “And we had no idea that we were coming down here during Speed Stick—or whatever in the hell it’s called.”

  Syd grunted.

  “And maybe we got stuck in a room with two beds.”

  Syd growled.

  “And it’s likely that we’ll never be able to set foot in a restaurant again.”

  Syd huffed.

  Maddie glanced at the lighted control panel next to the steel doors. This had to be the slowest elevator on the planet—they still had four floors to go. She let go of the suitcase and pulled Syd into her arms.

  “And if memory serves, we’ve got lots of experience, finding ways to have fun in hotels.”

  Syd wrapped her arms around Maddie’s back. “You’re lucky you’re so goddamn irresistible.”

  Maddie kissed her o
n the neck. “I know.”

  Syd slapped her on the arm. “Jerk.”

  Maddie laughed and kissed her again. “Come on, shortstop. Let’s go to the opera. There’s nothing that a hot mezzo soprano singing ‘The Habanera’ can’t fix.”